The Selection - A Harry Potter Love Story
by FlyingPages934
Summary: Ginny Weasley gets chosen for the Selection and meets Prince Harry. How will these worlds unfold? Read to find out!
1. Chapter 1

**The Selection**

 **A Harry Potter Love Story**

In a magical world of glittering gowns and priceless jewels THE SELECTION is the chance of a lifetime: to compete for gorgeous Prince Harry's heart. But for Ginevra Weasley it means turning her back on her secret love and leaving home for a prize she's not ready for.

Then Ginny meets Harry and all her plans start to crumble. Can the life she always dreamed of compare to a future she never imagined?

 _A/N: Hey, fellow readers! *waves* I am trying out a new story where Ginny Weasley is America Singer and Harry Potter is Maxon Schreave. I just think it fits well. The plot will mostly be the same from the Selection series book, so Kiera Cass owns most of this! I've just changed the characters and scenes a little. But this did take a very long time, so please tell me what you think of this in the comments! That would be lovely. Hope you enjoy ;)_

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CHAPTER 1

WHEN WE GOT THE LETTER by owl post, my mother was ecstatic. She had already decided that all our problems were solved, gone forever. The big hitch in her brilliant plan was me. I didn't think I was a particularly disobedient daughter, but this is where I drew the line.

I didn't want to be royalty. And I didn't want to be a One. I didn't even want to _try._

I hid in my room the only place I could avoid the chattering of the house, trying to come up with a way to sway her. So far, I had a solid collection of my honest opinions…I didn't think there was a single one she would listen to.

I couldn't avoid her much longer. It was approaching dinnertime, and as the older children left the house, and being the only daughter, cooking duties fell on me. I pulled myself out of bed and into the snake pit.

I got a glare from Mom but no words.

We did a silent dance through the kitchen and dining room as we prepared chicken, pasta, and apple slices, and set the table for seven. If I glanced up from my task, she'd fix me with a fierce look as if she could shame me into wanting the same thing she did. She tried that every so often. Like if I didn't want to take on a particular job because I knew the family hosting us was unnecessarily rude. Or if she wanted me to do a massive cleaning when we couldn't afford to have a Six come and help.

Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn't. And this was one area where I was unswayable.

She couldn't stand it when I was stubborn. But I got that from her, so she shouldn't have been surprised. This wasn't just about me, though. Mom had been tense lately. The summer was ending, and soon we'd be faced with cold. And worry.

Mom set down a pitcher of tea in the centre of the table with an angry thud. My mouth watered at the thought of tea with lemon. But I would have to wait; it would be such a waste to have my glass now and then have to drink water with my meal.

"Ginny," she said, no longer able to contain herself. "Would it kill you to fill out the form? The Selection could be a wonderful opportunity for you, for all of us."

I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. Yes. Yes it will kill me to fill it out. You don't understand. Filling out that form is certainly close to death for me. It's a big change.

It was no secret that the Death Eaters – the underground colonies who worked for Voldemort and hated Illéa, our large and comparatively young country –made regular violent attacks on the castle both violent and frequent. So many people have had their houses burned to the ground, and a handful of Twos had their cars vandalized and their families taken away – tortured, murdered. There was even a massive jailbreak once, but considering they only released a teenage girl who'd managed to get herself pregnant and a Seven who was a father to nine, I couldn't help thinking they were in the right that time.

But beyond the potential danger, I felt like it would hurt my heart to even consider the Selection. I couldn't help smiling as I thought about all the reasons I had to stay exactly where I was.

"These last few years have been very hard on your father," she hissed. "If you have any compassion at all, you might think of him."

Dad. Yeah. I really did want to help Dad. And Fred and George and Ron. And, I supposed, even my mother. When she talked about it that way there was nothing to smile about. Things had been strained around here for far too long. I wondered if Dad would see this as a way back to normal, if any amount of money could make things better.

It wasn't that out situation was so precarious that we were living in fear of survival or anything. We weren't destitute. But I guess we weren't that far off either.

Our caste was just three away from the bottom. We were artists. And artist and classical musicians were only three steps up from dirt. Literally. Our money was stretched as tight as a high wire, and our income was highly dependent on the changing seasons.

I remembered reading in a timeworn history book that all the major holidays used to be cramped into the winter months. Something called Halloween followed by Thanksgiving, then Christmas and New Year's. All back to back.

Christmas was still the same. It's not like you could change the birth date of a deity. But when Illéa made the massive peace treaty with China, the New Year came in January or February, depending on the moon. All the individual celebrations of thankfulness and independence from our part of the world were now simply the Grateful Feast. That came in the summer. It was a time to celebrate the forming of Illéa, to rejoice in the fact that we were still here.

I didn't know what Halloween was. It never resurfaced.

So at least three times a year, the whole family would be fully employed. Dad and the twins – Fred and George – would make their art, and patrons would purchase them as gifts. Mom and I would perform at parties – me singing and her on piano – not turning down a single job if we could manage it. When I was younger, performing in front of an audience terrified me. But now I just tried to equate myself to background music. That's what we were in the eyes of our employers: meant to be heard not seen.

Ron hadn't found his talent yet. He was seventeen, a year older than me. But we tried to tell him that art can be anything. Fred and George aren't very good at it, either, and are better at pulling jokes and pranks than anything else. He is okay with guitar, though. He just needs more practice.

Soon the leaves would change, and our tiny world would be unsteady again. Seven mouths to feed, but only five workers. No guarantees of employment until Christmastime.

When I thought of it that way, the Selection seemed like a rope, something sure I could grab onto. That ridiculous letter could lift me out of the darkness, and I could pull my family along with me.

I looked over at my mother. For a Five, she was a little on the heavy side, which was odd. He wasn't a glutton, and it's not like we had anything to overeat anyway. Perhaps that's just the way a body looks after seven children. Her hair was red, like mine, like all of ours in the family, but hers were full of brilliant white streaks. Those had appeared suddenly and in abundance about two years ago. Lines creased the corners of her eyes, though she was still pretty young, and I could see as she moved around the kitchen that she was hunched over as if an invisible weight rested on her shoulders.

I knew she had a lot to carry. And I knew that was why she had taken to being particularly manipulative with me. We fought enough without the extra strain, but as the empty fall quietly approached, she became much more irritable. I knew she thought I was being unreasonable now, to not want to fill out a silly little form.

But there were things – important things – in this world that I loved. And that piece of paper was the only thing holding me back from what I wanted. Perhaps what I wanted was stupid. Perhaps it wasn't even something I could have. But still, it was mine. I didn't think I could sacrifice my dreams, no matter how much my family meant to me. Besides, I had given them so much already.

I was the youngest one in the family, but was more mature and sensible than my brothers living here now that Bill was married and Charlie and Percy were gone. Percy was all business and had moved out not long ago. Charlie had moved out a while ago, and went to work with Dragons in Romania, and Bill was living with his wife. Ron was still working on his talents, and as for Fred and George, they were pranksters, so I did my best to contribute. We scheduled my homeschooling around my rehearsals, which took up most of the day since I was trying to master several instruments as well as singing.

But with the letter here, none of my work mattered anymore. In my mom's mind, I was already queen.

If I was smart, I would have hidden that stupid notice before Dad, Ron, Percy and the twins came in. But I didn't know Mom had tucked it away in her clothes, and mid-meal she pulled it out.

"'To the House of Weasley,'" she sang out.

I tried to swipe it away, but she was too quick for me. They would find out sooner or later anyway, but if she did it like this, they'd all be on her side.

"Mom, please!" I pleaded.

"I want to hear!" Fred and George chorused. That was no surprise. My brothers looked just like me, only on a three-year delay and masculine. But where our looks were almost identical, our personalities were anything but. Unlike me, they were outgoing and cheerful. And sometimes gossip crazy. They loved to tease Ron and I whenever a girl or boy was mentioned. They were currently trying to find each other dates, so this whole thing would seem incredibly romantic and humorous to them.

I felt myself blush. Dad listened intently, and the twins were practically on the edge of their seats, broad grins glued on their faces. Ron, sweet little thing, just kept eating. He was vulnerable when it came to food. Mother cleared his throat and went on.

"'The recent census has confirmed that a single woman between the ages of sixteen and twenty currently reside in your home. We would like to make you aware of an upcoming opportunity to honour the great nation of Illéa.'"

The twins laughed and rubbed my hair. "That's you!"

"I know, you monkeys. Stop before you tangle my hair up." But they just chuckled and rested their hands on my shoulders instead.

"'Our beloved prince, Harry Potter,'" Mom continued, "'is coming of age this month. As he ventures into this new part of his life, he hopes to move forward with a partner, to marry a true Daughter of Illéa. If you're eligible daughter, sister, or charge is interested in possibly becoming the bride of Prince Harry and the adored new princess of Illéa, please fill out the enclosed form and return it to your local Province Services Office. One woman from each province will be drawn at random to meet the prince.

"'Participants will be housed at the lovely Illéa Castle in Hogwarts for the duration of their stay. The families of each participant will be _generously compensated_ '" – she drew out the words for effect – "'for their service to the royal family.'"

I rolled my eyes as she went on. This was the way they did it with sons. Princesses born into the royal family were sold off into marriage in an attempt to solidify our young relations with other countries. I understood why it was done – we needed allies. But I didn't like it. I hadn't had to see such a thing, and I hoped I never would. The royal family hadn't produced a princess in three generations. Princes, on the other hand, married women of the people to keep up the morale of our sometimes volatile nation. I think the Selection was meant to draw us together and remind everyone that Illéa itself was born out of next to nothing.

The idea of being entered into a contest for the whole country to see as this stuck-up little wimp picked the most gorgeous and shallow of the bunch to the silent, pretty face that stood beside him on TV…it was enough to make me scream. Could anything be more humiliating?

Besides, I'd visited homes of enough Twos and Threes to be sure I never wanted to live among them, let alone be a One. Except the times when we were hungry, I was quite content to be a Five. Mom was the caste climber, not me.

"And of course he would love Ginny! She's so beautiful," Mom swooned.

"Please, Mom. If anything, I'm average."

"You are not!" Fred said. "Because we're a male version of you, and _we're_ hot!" His smile is so wide, I couldn't contain my laughter. And it was a good point. Fred and George were handsome.

It was more than their face, though, more than their winning smile and bright eyes. They both radiated an energy, and enthusiasm that made you want to be wherever they were. They were always pulling pranks on someone and there to make you smile. They were magnetic, and I, in all honesty, wasn't.

"Ron, what do you think? Do you think I'm pretty?" I asked.

All eyes fell on the second-youngest member of our family.

"No! Girls are gross!"

"Ron, please." Mom gave an exasperated sigh but her heart wasn't in it. "Ginny, you must know you're a very lovely girl."

"If I'm so lovely, how come no one ever comes by to ask me out?"

"Oh, they come by, but I shoo them away. My daughter is too lovely to marry Fives. Bill got a Four, and I'm sure you can do even better." Mom took a sip of her tea.

"Her name is Fleur. Stop calling her a number. And since when do girls come by?" I heard my voice raise an octave.

"A while," Dad said, making his first comment on all of this. His voice had a hint of sorrow to it and he was staring decidedly at his cup. I was trying to figure out what upset him so much. Girls coming by? Mom and me arguing again? The idea of me not entering the contest? How far away I'd be if I did?

His eyes came up for the briefest of moments, and I suddenly understood. He didn't want to ask this of me. He wouldn't want me to go. That I could understand. But he couldn't deny the benefits if I managed to make it in, even for a day.

"Ginny, be reasonable," Mom said. "We have to be the only parents in the country trying to talk our daughter into this! Think of the opportunity! You could be queen one day!"

"Mom, even if I wanted to be queen, which I thoroughly don't, there are thousands of other girls in the province entering this things, thousands. And if I somehow was drawn, there would still be thirty-four other girls there, no doubt much better at seduction than I ever could pretend to be. I'm a hopeless romantic."

"It's ridiculous to think that, with all of that, I'd somehow manage to win," I finished.

My mother pushed her chair out as she stood and leaned across the table toward me. "Someone is going to, Ginny. You have as good a chance as anyone else." she threw his napkin down and went to leave. "Ron, when you finish, it's time for your bath."

He groaned.

The twins at in silence. Ron asked for seconds but there weren't any – everyone ate it, particularly himself. When they got up, I started clearing the table while Dad sat there sipping his tea. He had paint in his hair again, a smattering of yellow that made me smile. He stood, brushing crumbs off his shirt.

"Sorry, Dad," I murmured as I picked up plates.

"Don't be silly, kitten. I'm not mad." He smiled easily and put an arm around me.

"I just…"

"You don't have to explain it to me, honey. I know." He kissed me on my forehead. "I'm going back to work."

And with that I moved to the kitchen to start cleaning. I wrapped my mostly untouched plate under a napkin and hid it in the fridge. No one else left more than crumbs, especially Ron with his high metabolism.

I sighed, heading to my room to get ready for bed. The whole thing was infuriating.

Why did Mom have to push me so much? Wasn't she happy? Didn't she love Dad? Why wasn't this good enough for her?

I lay on my lumpy mattress, trying to wrap my head around the Selection. I guess it had its advantages. It would be nice to eat well for a while at least. But there was no reason to bother. I wasn't going to fall in love with Prince Harry. From what I'd seen on the _Illéa Capital Report_ , I wouldn't even like the guy.

It seemed like forever until midnight rolled around. There was a mirror by the door, and I stopped to make sure my hair looked as presentable as it was this morning and put on a little lip gloss so there'd be some colour on my face. Mom was pretty strict about saving makeup for when we had to perform or go out in public, but I usually snuck some on nights like tonight.

As quietly as I could, I crept into the kitchen. I grabbed my leftovers, some bread that was expiring and an apple all bundled up. It was painful to walk back to my room so slowly, now that it was late. But if I'd done it earlier, I would have just been antsy.

I opened my window and looked out into our little patch of backyard. There wasn't much of a moon out, so I had to let my eyes adjust before I moved. Across the lawn the tree house stood barely silhouetted in the night. When we were younger, my older brothers would tie up sheets to the branches so it looked like a ship. They took turns of being the captain and I was always their first mate. My duties mainly consisted of sweeping the floor and making food, which was dirt and twigs stuffed into Mom's baking pans. They would take a spoonful of dirt and "eat" it by throwing it over their shoulder. This meant that I'd have to sweep again, but I didn't mind. I was just happy to be on the ship with my brothers.

I looked around. All the neighbouring houses were dark. No one was watching. I crawled out of the window carefully. I used to get bruises across my stomach from doing it the wrong way, but now it was easy, a talent I'd mastered over the years. And I didn't want to mess up any of the food.

I scurried across the lawn in my cutest pyjamas. I could have left my day clothes on, but this feels better. I supposed it didn't matter what I wore, but I felt relaxed in my little brown shorts and fitted white shirt.

It wasn't hard to scale the slats nailed into the tree with only one hand. I'd developed that skill as well. Each step up was a relief. It wasn't much of a distance, but from here it felt like all the commotion from my house was miles away. Here I didn't have to be anyone's prince.

As I climbed into the tiny box that was my escape, I knew I wasn't alone. In the far corner, someone was hiding in the night. My breath sped; I couldn't help it. I set my food down and squinted. The person shifted, using the spell _Lumos_ to light the room. It wasn't much light – no one in the house would see it – but it was enough. Finally the intruder spoke, a sly grin spreading across his face.

"Hey there, gorgeous."


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

I CRAWLED DEEPER INTO THE tree house. It wasn't much more than a five-by-five-foot cube; even I couldn't stand up straight in here, and I was around 5 feet. But I loved it. There was one opening to crawl into and then a tiny window on the opposite wall. I'd placed an old step stool in the corner to act as a desk to write letters on, and a little run that was so old it was barely better than sitting on the slats. It wasn't much, but it was my haven. _Our_ haven.

"Please don't call me gorgeous. First my mom, than my twin brothers, now you. It's getting on my nerves." By the way Dean was looking at me, I could tell I wasn't helping my "I'm not pretty" case. He smiled.

"I can't help it. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. You can't hold it against me for saying it the only time I'm allowed to." He reached up and cupped my face, and I looked deep into his eyes.

That was all it took. His lips were on mine, and I couldn't think about anything anymore. There was no Selection, no miserable family, no Illéa itself. There were only Dean's hands on my back pulling me closer, Dean's breathe on my cheeks. My fingers went to his black hair, still wet from his shower – he always took showers at night – and tangled themselves into a perfect little knot. He smelled like his mother's homemade soap. I dreamed about that smell. We broke apart, and I couldn't help but smile.

His legs were propped open wide, so I sat sideways between them, like a kid who needed cradling. "Sorry I'm not I'm not in a better mood. It's just that…we got this stupid notice by owl post today."

"Ah yes, the letter." Dean sighed. "We got two."

Of course. The twins had just turned sixteen.

Dean studied my face as he spoke. He did that when we were together, like he was recommitting my face to memory. It had been over a week, and we both got anxious when it was more than a few days.

And I looked him over, too. No family excluded, Dean was, by far, the most attractive guy in town. He had dark hair and green eyes, like mine, and this smile that made you think he had a secret. He was tall, but not too tall. Thin, but not too thin. I noticed in the dim light that there were tiny bags under his eyes; no doubt he'd been working late all week. His black t-shirt was worn to threads in several places, just like the shabby pair of jeans he wore almost every day.

If only I could sit and patch them up for him. That was my great ambition. Not to be Illéa's princess. To be Dean's.

It hurt me to be away from him. Some days I went crazy wondering what he was doing. And when I couldn't handle it, I practiced music or studied. I really had Dean to thank for me being the musician that I was. He drove me to distraction.

And that was bad.

Dean was a Six. Sixes were servants and only a step up from Sevens in that they were better educated and trained for indoor work. Dean was smarter than anyone knew and devastatingly handsome, but it was atypical for a woman to marry down. A man from a lower caste could ask for your hand, but it was rare to get a yes. And when anyone married into a different caste, they had to fill out paperwork and wait for something like ninety days before any of the other legal things you needed could be done. I'd heard more than one person say it was to give people a chance to change their minds. So us being this personal and out well past Illéa's curfew…we could both end up in serious trouble. Not to mention the hell I'd get from my mother.

But I loved Dean. I'd loved Dean for nearly two years. And he loved me. As he sat there stroking my hair, I couldn't imagine entering the Selection.

"How do you feel about it? The Selection, I mean?" I asked.

"Okay, I guess. He's got to find a girl _somehow_ , poor guy." I could hear the sarcasm. But I really wanted to know his opinion.

"Dean."

"Okay, okay. Well, part of me thinks it's kind of sad. Doesn't the prince date? I mean, can he seriously not get _anyone_? If they try to wed the princesses to other princes, why don't they do the same for him? There's got to be some royal out there good enough for him. I don't get it. So there's that.

"But then…" He sighed. "Part of me thinks it's a good idea. It's exciting. He's going to fall in love in front of everyone. And I like that someone gets a happily ever after and all that. Anybody could be our next queen. It's kind of hopeful. Makes me think that I could have a happily ever after, too."

His fingers were tracing my lips. Those green eyes searched deep into my soul, and I felt that speak of connection that I'd only ever had with him. I wanted our happily ever after, too."

"So you're encouraging the twins to enter, then?"

"Yes. I mean, we've all seen the prince from time to time; he looks like a nice enough guy. A snot, no doubt, but friendly. And the girls are so eager; it's funny to watch. They were dancing in the house when I came home today. And no one can deny it'd be good for the family. Mom's hopeful because we have two entries from the house instead of one."

That was the first good news about this horrible competition. I couldn't believe I'd been so self-absorbed that I hadn't thought about Dean's sisters. If one of them went, if one of them won…

"Dean, do you realize what that would mean? If Kamber or Celia won?"

He closed his hold tighter around me, his lips brushing my forehead. One hand moved up and down my back.

"It's all I've thought about today," he said. The gritty sound of his voice pushed out every other thought. All I wanted was for Dean to touch me, kiss me. And that's exactly where the night would have gone, but his stomach growled and snapped me out of it.

"Oh, hey, I brought us snack," I said lightly.

"Oh, yeah?" I could tell he was trying not to sound excited, but some of his eagerness came through.

"You'll love this chicken; I made it."

I found my little bundle and brought it to Dean, who, to his merit, nibbled it all slowly. I took one bite of the apple so he would feel like it was for _us_ , but then I set it down and let him have the rest.

Where meals were a worry at my house, they were a disaster at Dean's. He had much steadier work than we did but got paid significantly less. There was never enough food for his family. He was the oldest of seven, and in the same way I'd stepped up to help as soon as I could, Dean had stepped aside. He passed his share of the little food they had down to his siblings and to his mom, who was always tired from working. His dad had died three years ago, and Dean's family depended on him for almost everything.

I watched with satisfaction as he licked the spices from the chicken off his fingers and tore into the bread. I couldn't imagine when he'd eaten last.

"You're such a good cook. You're going to make someone very fat and happy one day," he said, his mouth half full with a bite of apple.

"I'm going to make _you_ fat and happy. You know that."

"Ah, to be fat!"

We laughed, and he told me about life since the last time I'd seen him. He'd done some clerical work for one of the factories, and it was going to carry him through next week, too. His mom had finally gotten into a routine of house-cleaning for a few of the Twos in our area. The twins were both sad because their mom had made them drop their after-school Quidditch lessons so they could work more.

"I'm going to see if I can pick up some work on Sundays, make a little more money. I hate for them to give up something they love so much." He said this with hope, like he could really do it.

"Dean Thomas, don't you dare! You work too hard as it is."

"Aw, Ginny," he whispered into my ear. It gave me chill bumps. "You know how Kamber and Celia are. They need to be around people. They can't be cooped up cleaning and writing all the time. It's just not in their nature."

"But it's not fair for them to expect you to do it all, Dean. I know exactly how you feel about your sisters, but you need to watch out for yourself. If you really love them, you'll take better care of their caregiver."

"Don't you worry about a thing, Ginny. I think there are some good things on the horizon. I wouldn't be doing it forever."

But he would. Because the family would always need money. "Dean, I know you could do it. But you're not a superhero. You can't expect to be able to provide everything for everyone you love. You just…you can't do everything."

We were quiet for a moment. I hoped he was taking my words to heart, realizing that if he didn't slow down, he'd wear himself out. It wasn't anything new for a Six, Seven, or Eight to just die of exhaustion. I couldn't bear that. I pressed myself even closer to his chest, trying to get the image of it out of my head.

"Ginny?"

"Yes?" I whispered.

"Are you going to enter the Selection?"

"No! Of course not! I don't want anyone to think I'd even _consider_ marrying some stranger. I love _you_ ," I said earnestly.

"You want to be a Six? Always hungry? Always worried?" he asked. I could hear the pain in his voice, but also the genuine question: If I had to choose between sleeping in a Castle with people waiting on me or the three-room apartment with Dean's family, which one would I really want?

"Dean, we'll make it. We're smart. We'll be fine." I willed it to be true.

"You know that's not how it'll be, Ginny. I'd still have to support my family; I'm not the abandoning type." I squirmed a little in his arms. "And if we had kids –"

" _When_ we have kids. And we'll just be careful about it. Who says we have to have more than two?"

"You know that's not something we can control!" I could hear the anger building in his voice.

I couldn't blame him. If you were wealthy enough, you could regulate having a family. If you were a Four or worse, they left you to fend for yourselves. This had been the subject of many an argument for us over the last six months, when we seriously started trying to find a way to be together. Children were the wild card. The more you had, the more there were to work. But then again, so many hungry mouths…

We fell silent again, both unsure of what to say. Dean was a passionate person; he tended to get a little carried away in an argument. He had gotten better about catching himself before he got too angry, and I knew that's what he was doing now.

I didn't want him to worry or be upset; I really thought we could handle it. If we just planned for everything we could, we'd make it through everything we couldn't. Maybe I was too optimistic, maybe I was just too far in love, but I really believed that anything Dean and I wanted badly enough, we could make happen.

"I think you should do it," he said suddenly.

"Do what?"

"Enter the Selection. I think you should do it."

I glared at him. "Are you out of you mind?"

"Gin, listen to me." His mouth was right next to my ear. It wasn't fair; he knew this distracted me. When his voice came, it was breathy and slow, like he was saying something romantic, though what he was suggesting was anything but. "If you had a chance for something better than this, and you didn't take it because of me, I'd never forgive myself. I couldn't stand it."

I let out my breath in a quick huff. "It's so ridiculous. Think of the thousands of girls entering. I won't even get picked."

"If you won't get picked, then why does it matter?" His hands were rubbing up and down my arms now. I couldn't argue when he did that. "All I want is for you to enter. I just want you to try. And if you go, then you go. And if you don't, then at least I won't have to beat myself up for holding you back."

"Will _you_ enter? Because there's no way I'm entering if you're not."

"Ginny, I only want you to enter." He sighed, trying to come up with the right words to explain. "Look, it may not make sense, but I just want to see you go on this experience. I feel like this will be a good thing. It's not much fun if we both enter – we'll have to go on dates with the prince, and we'll probably just get jealous."

"But I don't love him either, Dean. I don't even like him. I don't even _know_ him. You'll just get jealous of me going on dates, anyway. So it's kind of a moot point."

"No one knows him. That's the thing, though, maybe you would like him. And no, I won't get jealous."

"Dean, stop. I love _you_."

"And I love you." He kissed me slowly to make his point. "And if you love me, you'll do this so I won't go crazy wondering what if."

When he made it about him, I didn't stand a chance. Because I couldn't hurt him. I was doing everything I could to make his life easier. And I was right. There was absolutely no way I'd get chosen. So I should just go through the motions, appease everyone, and when I didn't get picked, everyone would drop it.

"Please?" he breathed into my air. The feeling sent chills down by body.

"Fine," I whispered. "I'll do it. But know now that I don't want to be some princess. All I want is to be your wife."

He stroked my hair.

"You will be."

It must have been the light. Or the lack of thereof. Because I swore his eyes welled up when he said that. Dean had been through a lot, but I had seen him cry only once, when they whipped his brother in the square. Little Jemmy had stolen some fruit off a cart in the market. An adult would have had a brief trial and then, depending on the value of what was stolen, either be thrown in jail or sentenced to death. Jemmy was only nine, so he was beaten. Dean's mom didn't have the money to take him to a proper doctor, so Jemmy had scars all up and down his back from the incident.

That night I waited by my window to see if Dean would climb up into the tree house. When he did, I snuck out to him. He cried in my arms for an hour about how if he'd only worked harder, if he'd only done better, Jemmy wouldn't have to steal. How it was so unfair that Jemmy had to hurt because Dean had failed.

It was agonising, because it wasn't true. But I couldn't tell him that; he wouldn't hear me. Dean carried the need of everyone he loved on his back. Somehow, miraculously, I became one of those people. So I made my load as light as I could.

"Would you sing for me? Give me something good to fall asleep to?"

I smiled. I loved giving him songs. So I settled in the close and sang a quiet lullaby.

He let me sing for a few minutes before his fingers started moving absently below my ear. He pulled the neck of my shirt open wide and kissed along my neck and ears. Then he pulled up my short sleeve and kissed as far down my arm as he could reach. It made my breath hitch. Almost every time I sang, he did this. I think he enjoyed the sound of my raspy breathing more than the singing itself.

Before long we were tangled together on the dirty, thin rug. Dean pulled me on top of him, and I brushed his scraggly hair with my fingers, hypnotized by the feel. He kissed me feverishly and hard. I was always surprised that he didn't leave little finger-shaped bruises all over me.

We were cautious, always stopping shy of the things we really wanted. As if breaking curfew wasn't bad enough. Still, whatever our limitations were, I couldn't imagine anyone in Illéa had more passion than we did.

"I love you, Ginny Weasley. As long as I live, I'll love you." There was some deep emotion in his voice, and it caught me off guard.

"I love you, Dean. You'll always be my prince."

He kissed me until the spell wore off, and the room was coated in darkness.

It had to have been hours, and my eyes are heavy. Dean never worried about his sleep, but he was always concerned about mine. So I wearily climbed down the ladder, taking my plate and my sickle.

When I sang, Dean ate it up, loved it. From time to time, when he had anything at all, he'd give me a sickle to pay for my song. If he managed to scrounge up a sickle, I wanted him to give to his family. There was no doubt they needed every last one. But then, having these Sickles – since I couldn't bear to spend them – was like having a reminder of everything Dean was willing to do for me, of everything I meant to him.

Back in my room, I pulled my tiny jar of Sickles out from its hiding spot and listened to the happy sound of the newest one hitting its neighbours. I waited for ten minutes, watching out the window, until I saw Dean's shadow climb down and run down the back road.

I stayed awake a little while longer, thinking of Dean and how much I loved him, and how it felt to be loved by him. I felt special, priceless, irreplaceable. No queen on any throne could possibly feel more important than I did.

I fell asleep with that thought securely etched into my heart.

* * *

 **A/N: What are you thinking of this so far? Has anyone read The Selection series? Tell me in the comments! All thoughts welcomed, especially votes. Have a nice day ;)**


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

DEAN WAS DRESSED IN WHITE. He looked angelic. We were in Carolina still, but there was no one else around. We were alone, but we didn't miss anyone. Dean wove twigs to make me a crown, and we were together.

"Ginny," Mom crowed, jarring me from my dreams.

She flicked on the lights, burning my eyes, and I rubbed my hands into them, trying to adjust.

"Wake up, Ginny, I have a proposal for you." I looked over at the alarm clock. Just past seven in the morning. So that was…five hours in bed.

"Is it more sleep?" I mumbled.

"No, pumpkin, sit up. I have something serious to discuss."

I worked myself into a sitting position, clothes rumpled and hair sticking out in strange directions. Mom clapped her hands over and over, as if it would speed up the process.

"Come on, Ginny, I need you to wake up."

I yawned. Twice.

"What do you want?" I said.

"For you to submit your name into the Selection. I think you'd make an excellent princess."

It was way too early for this.

"Mom, really, I just…" I sighed as I remembered what I'd promised Dean last night: that I would at least try. But now, in the light of day, I wasn't sure if I could make myself do it.

"I know you're opposed, but I figured I'd make a deal with you to see if you would change your mind."

My ears perked up. What could she possibly offer me?

"Your father and I spoke last night, and we decided that you're old enough to go on jobs alone. You play the piano as well as I do, and if you'd try a little more, you'd be nearly flawless on the violin. And your voice, well, there's no one better in the province, if you ask me."

I smiled groggily. "Thanks, Mom. Really." I didn't particularly care to work alone, though. I didn't see how that was supposed to entice me.

"Well, that's not all. You can accept your own work now and go alone and…and you can keep half of whatever you make." She sort of grimaced as she said it.

My eyes popped open.

" _But_ only if you sign up for the Selection." She was starting to smile now. She knew this would win me over, though I think he was expecting more of a fight. But how could I fight? I was already going to sign up, and now I could earn some money of my own!

"You know I can only agree to sign up, right? I can't make them pick me."

"Yes, I know. But it's worth a shot."

"Wow, Mom." I shook my head, still in shock. "Okay, I'll fill out the form today. Are you serious about the money?"

"Of course. Sooner or later you'd go out on your own anyway. And being responsible for your own money will be good for you. Only, don't forget your family, please. We still need you."

"I won't forget you, Mom. How could I, with all the nagging?" I winked, she laughed, and with that, the deal was done.

I took a shower as I processed everything that had happened in less than twenty-four hours. By simply filling out a form, I was winning the approval of my family, making Dean happy, and earning the money that would help Dean and I get married!

I wasn't so concerned about the money, but Dean insisted we needed to have some savings of our own first. It cost a bit to do the legal stuff, and we wanted to have a very small party with our family after our wedding. I figured it wouldn't take very long for us to save for that once we decided we were ready, but Dean wanted more. Maybe, finally, he'd trust that we wouldn't always be strapped if I did some serious work.

After my shower, I did my hair and put on the tiniest bit of makeup to celebrate, then went to my closet and got dressed. There weren't a whole lot of options. Most everything were beige, brown or green. I had a few nicer dresses for when we worked, but they were hopelessly behind the fashion department. It was like that though. Sixes and Sevens were almost always in denim or something sturdy. Fives mostly wore bland clothes, as the artists covered everything with smocks and the singers and dancers only really needed to look special for performances. The upper castes would wear khaki and denim from time to time to change up their looks, but it was always in a way that took the material to a whole new level. As if it wasn't enough that they could have pretty much whatever they wanted, they turned our necessities into luxuries.

I put on my khaki shorts and the green tunic top – by far the most exciting day clothes I owned – and looked myself over before going into the living room. I felt kind of pretty today. Maybe it was just the excitement behind my eyes.

Mom was sitting at the kitchen table with Dad, humming. They both looked up at me a couple of times, but even their stares couldn't bother me.

When I picked up the letter, I was a little surprised. Such high-quality paper. I'd never felt anything like it. Thick and slightly textured. For a moment the weight of the paper hit me, reminding me pf the magnitude of what I was doing. Two words jumped into my head: _What if?_

But I shook the thought away and put pen to paper.

It was straightforward enough. I filled in my name, age, caste, and contact information. I had to put my height and weight, hair, eye, and skin colour, too. I was pleased to write that I could speak three languages. Most could speak at least two, but Mom insisted we learn French and Spanish, since those languages were still used in parts of the country. It also helped with the singing. There were so many beautiful songs in French. We had to list the highest grade level we'd completed, which could vary immensely, since only Sixes and Sevens with magical blood went to the public magical schools and had actual grade levels. I was almost done with my education. Under special skills, I listed singing and all my instruments.

"Do you think the ability to sleep in counts as a special skill?" I asked Dad, trying to sound torn over the decision.

"Yes, list that. And don't forget to write that you can eat an entire meal under five minutes," he replied. I laughed. It was true; I did intend to inhale my food.

"Oh, the both of you! Why don't you just write down that you're an absolute heathen!" My mother went storming from the room. I couldn't believe she was so frustrated – after all, she was getting exactly what she wanted.

I gave Dad a questioning look.

"She just wants the best for you, that's all." He leaned back in his chair, relaxing a bit before he started on the commissioned piece that was due by the end of the month.

"So do you, but you're never so angry," I noted.

"Yes. But your mother and I have different ideas on what's best for you." He flashed me a smile. I got my mouth from him – both the look and the tendency to say innocent things that got me into trouble. The temper was Mom's doing, but she was better at holding her tongue if it really mattered. Not me. Like right now…

"Dad, if I wanted to marry a Six or even a Seven, and he was really someone I loved, would you let me?"

Dad set his mug down, and his eyes focused on me. I tried not to give anything away with my expression. His sigh was heavy, full of grief.

"Ginny, if you loved an Eight, I'd want you to marry him. But you should know that love can wear away under the stress of being married. Someone you think you love now, you might start to hate when he couldn't provide for you. And if you couldn't take care of your children, it'd be even worse. Love doesn't always survive under those types of circumstances."

Dad rested his hand on top of mine, drawing my eyes up to his. I tried to hide my worry.

"But no matter what, I want you to be loved. You deserve to be loved. And I hope you get to marry for love and not a number."

He couldn't say what I wanted to know – that I _would_ get to marry for love and not a number – but it was the best I could hope for.

"Thanks, Dad."

"Go easy on your mother. She's trying to do the right things." He kissed my head and went off to work.

I sighed and went back to filling out the application. The whole things made me feel like my family didn't think I had any right to want something of my own. It bothered me, but I knew I couldn't hold it against them in the long run. We couldn't afford the luxury of wants. We had needs.

I took my finished application and went to find Mom in the backyard. She sat there, stitching up a hem as the twins did their schoolwork in the shade of the tree house. Dean used to complain about the strict teachers in the public schools. I seriously doubted any of them could keep up with Mom. It was summer, for goodness' sake.

"Did you really do it?" George asked, grinning with excitement.

"I sure did."

Fred chuckled. "What made you change your mind?"

"Mom can be very compelling," I said pointedly, though Mom was obviously not ashamed at all of her bribery. "We can go to the Services Office as soon as you're ready, Mom."

She smiled a little. "That's my girl. Go get your things, and we'll head out. I want to get yours in as soon as possible."

I went to grab my shoes and bag as I'd been instructed, but I stopped short at Ron's room. He was staring at a blank canvas, looking frustrated. We kept rotating through options with Ron, but none of them were sticking. One look at the battered broom in the corner against the wall or the second-hand microscope we'd inherited as payment one Christmas, and it was obvious his heart just wasn't in the arts.

"Not feeling inspired today, huh?" I asked, stepping into his room.

He looked up at me and shook his head.

"Perhaps you could try sculpting, like Percy and Charlie. You have great hands. I bet you'd be good at it."

"I don't want to sculpt things. Or paint or sing or play the piano. I want to play Quidditch." He kicked his foot into the aging carpet.

"I know. And you can for fun, but you need to find a craft you're good at to make a living. You can do both."

"But why?" he whined.

"You know why. It's the law."

"But that's not fair!" Ron pushed the canvas to the floor, where it stirred up dust in the light from his window. "It's not our fault our great-grandfather or whoever was poor."

"I know." It really seemed unreasonable to limit everyone's life choices based on your ancestors' ability to help the government, but that was how it all worked out. And I suppose I should just be grateful we were safe. "I guess it was the only way to make things work at the time."

"And don't tell me what I should do, you're my younger sister. I should be telling _you_ what to do."

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, but I have already found what I am interested in, and I am trying to help you find yours. Siblings are there to help each other."

He doesn't speak. I breathed a sigh and picked up the canvas, setting it back into place. This was his life, and he couldn't just wipe it away.

"You don't have to give up your hobbies, Ron. But you want to be able to help Mom and Dad and grow up and get married, right?" I poked his side.

He stuck out his tongue in playful disgust, and we both giggled.

"Ginny!" Mom called down the hall. "What's taking you so long?"

"Coming," I yelled back, and then turned to Ron. "I know it's hard. It's just the way it is, okay? Just don't lose hope."

But I knew it wasn't okay. It wasn't okay at all.

Mom and I used the Floo Network to the local office. We rarely travelled by Floo as we couldn't always afford Floo Powder. Sometimes it was easier to use Floo, though, especially if it was work related. It looked bad showing up sweaty at the house of a Two. They already looked at us funny anyway. Aside from Ron and I, everyone else was able to apparate in and out of the house though, being seventeen and older and because they took their apparition test. Ron was seventeen, but hasn't passed his test yet, which makes him give up his hopes even more. Very occasionally we would walk, mostly just to enjoy the fresh air and to gain some exercise.

We obviously weren't the only ones trying to get our submission in right away. When we arrived, the street in front of the Province of Carolina Services Office was packed with women.

Standing in line, I could see a number of girls from my neighbourhood in front of me, waiting to go inside. The trail was nearly four people wide and wrapped halfway around the block. Every girl in the province was signing up. I didn't know whether to feel terrified or relieved.

"Molly!" someone called. My mother and I both turned around at the sound of her name.

Celia and Kamber were walking up behind us with Dean's mother. She must have taken the day off to do this. Her daughters were dressed up as neatly as they could afford, looking very tidy. It wasn't much, but they looked good no matter what they wore, just like Dean. Kamber and Celia had the same dark hair and beautiful smiles.

Dean's mother smiled at me, and I returned her grin. I adored her. I only got to talk to her every once in a while, but she was always nice to me. And I knew it wasn't because I was a step up from her; I'd seen her give clothes that didn't fit her kids anymore to families who had next to nothing. She was just kind.

"Hello, Lena. Kamber, Celia, how are you?" Mother greeted them.

"Good!" they said in unison.

"You guys look beautiful," I said, placing one of Celia's curls behind her shoulder.

"We wanted to look pretty for our picture," Kamber announced.

"Picture?" I asked.

"Yes." Dean's mom spoke in a hushed voice. "I was cleaning at one of the magistrates' houses yesterday. This lottery isn't much of a lottery at all. That's why they're taking pictures and getting lots of information. Why would it matter how many languages you spoke if it were random?"

That _had_ struck me as funny, but I thought that was all information for after the fact.

"It appears to have leaked a little; look around. Lots of girls are way overdone."

I scanned the line. Dean's mother was right, and there was a clear line between those who knew and those who didn't. just behind us was a girl, obviously a Seven, still in her work clothes. Her muddy boots might not make the picture, but the dust on her overalls probabaly would. A few yards back another Seven was sporting a tool belt. The best I could say about her was that her face was clean.

On the other end of the spectrum, a girl in front of me had his hair smoothed back with gel to keep it that way. The girl beside him, clearly a Two based on her clothes, looked like she was trying to drown the world in her cleavage. Several had on so much makeup, they looked like clowns to me. But at least they were trying.

I looked decent, but I hadn't gone to any such lengths. Like the Sevens, I hadn't known to bother. I felt a sudden flutter of worry.

But why? I stopped myself and rearranged my thoughts.

I didn't want this. If I wasn't pretty enough, surely that was a good thing. I would at least be a notch below Dean's sisters. They were naturally beautiful, I couldn't deny, and looked lovelier with the little hints of makeup. If Kamber or Celia won, Dean's whole family would be elevated. Surely my mother couldn't disprove of me marrying a One just because he wasn't the prince himself. My lack of information was a blessing.

"I think you're right," Mom said. "That girl looks like he's getting ready for a Chrstmas party." She laughed, but I could tell she hated that I was at a disadvantage.

"I don't know why some girls go so over the top. Look at Ginny. She's so pretty. I'm glad you didn't go that route," Mrs. Thomas said.

"I'm nothing special. Who could pick me next to Kamber or Celia?" I winked at them, and they smiled. Mom did, too, but it was forced. She must have been debating staying in the line or forcing me to run home and change.

"Don't be silly! Every time Dean comes home from helping your brothers, he always says the Weasleys inherited more than their fair share of talent and beauty," Dean's mother said.

"Does he really? What a nice boy!" my mother cooed.

"Yes. A mother couldn't ask for a better son. He's supportive, and he works so hard."

"He's going to make some girl very happy one day," my mother said. She was only half into the conversation as she continued to size up the competition.

Mrs. Thomas took a quick look around."Between you and me, I think he might already have someone in mind."

I froze. I didn't know if I should comment or not, unsure if either response would give me away.

"What's she like?" my father asked. Even when she was planning my marriage to a complete stranger, she still had time to gossip.

"I'm not sure! I haven't actually met her. And I'm only guessing that he's seeing someone, but he seems happier lately," she replied, beaming.

Lately? We'd been meeting for nearly two years. Why only lately?

"He hums," Celia offered.

"Yeah, he sings, too," Kamber agreed.

"He sings?" I exclaimed.

"Oh, yeah," they chorused.

"Then he's definitely seeing someone!" my mother chimed in. "I wonder who she is."

"You've got me. But I'm guessing she must be a wonderful girl. These last few months he's been working hard – harder than usual. And he's been putting money aside. I think he must be trying to save up to get married."

I couldn't help the little gasp that escaped. Lucky me, they all attributed it to the general excitement of the news.

"And I couldn't be more pleased," she continued. "Even if he's not ready to tell us who she is, I love her already. It's sad that he doesn't want to enter the Selection, but it must mean he's found someone. He's smiling, and he just seems satisfied. It's been hard since we lost Herrick, and Dean's taken so much on himself. Any girl who makes him this happy is already a daughter to me."

"She'd be a lucky girl! Your Dean is a wonderful boy," Mom replied.

I couldn't believe it. Here his family was, trying to make ends meet, and he was putting away money for me! I didn't know whether to scold him or kiss him. I just…I had no words.

He really _was_ going to ask me to marry him!

It was all I could think about. _Dean, Dean, Dean._ I went through the line, signed at the window to confirm that everything on my form was true, and took my picture. I sat in the chair, flipped my hair back once or twice to give it some life, and turned to face the photographer.

I don't think any girl in all of Illéa could have been smiling more than me.

* * *

 **A/N: Doesn't this just fit so well? Harry Potter being famous and all, and the Weasley's being poor and large like America Singer's family... Please tell me how this is going! Love to hear your thoughts. And if you spot any mistakes, just tell me and I shall correct it. Thanks!**


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

IT WAS FRIDAY, SO THE _Illéa Capital Report_ would be on at eight. We weren't exactly obligated to watch, but it was unwise to miss it. Even Eights – the homeless, the wandering – would find a store or a church where they could see the _Report_. And with the Selection coming up. The _Report_ was more than a semi-requirement. Everyone wanted to know what was happening in their department.

"Do you think they'll announce the winners tonight?" Fred asked, stuffing mashed potatoes into his mouth.

"No, Fred. Everyone who's eligible still has nine days to submit their applications. It'll probably be two more weeks until we know." Mom's voice was the calmest it had been in years. She was completely at ease, pleased to have gotten something she really wanted.

"Aw! I can't stand the wait," George complained.

 _He_ couldn't stand the wait? It was _my_ name in the pot!

"Your mother tells me you had quite a long wait in line." I was surprised Dad wanted in on this conversation.

"Yeah," I said. "I wasn't expecting that many girls. I don't know why they're giving people nine more days; I swear everyone in the province has already gone in."

Dad chuckled. "Did you have fun gauging the competition?"

"Didn't bother," I said honestly. "I left that to Mom."

She nodded in agreement. "I did, I did. I couldn't help it. But I think Ginny looked good. Polished but natural. You are _so_ beautiful, honey. If they really are looking through instead of picking at random, you have an even better chance than I thought."

"I don't know," I hedged. "There was that girl who had on so much red lipstick she looked like she was bleeding. Maybe the prince likes that kind of thing."

Everyone laughed, and Mom and I continued to regale them with commentary on the outfits we'd noticed. The twins drank it all in, and Ron and Percy just sat smiling between bites of dinner. Sometimes it was easy to forget that as long as Ron had been able to really understand the world around him, things had been stressful at our house.

At eight we all piled into the living room – Dad in is chair, the twins next to Mom on the couch, and me and Ron on the floor all stretched out – and turned on the TV to the public access channel. It was the one channel you didn't have to pay to have, so even the Eights could get it if they had a TV.

The anthem played. Maybe it's silly, but I always loved our national anthem. It was one of my favourite songs to sing.

The picture of the royal family came into view. Standing at the podium was King James. His advisers, who had updates on the infrastructure and some environmental concerns, were seated to one side, and the camera cut to show them. It looked like there would be several announcements tonight. On the left side of the screen, the queen and Prince Harry sat in their typical cluster if throne-like seats and elegant clothes, looking regal and important.

"There's your boyfriend, Ginny," George announced, and everyone laughed.

I looked closely at Harry. I guess he was handsome in his own way. Not at all like Dean, though. His hair was jet-black, and his eyes were emerald. He kind of looked mysterious, which I guess was attractive to some people. His hair was cropped short and neatly done, and his grey dress was perfectly fitted to him.

But he sat way too rigidly in his chair. He looked so uptight. His clean hair was too perfect, his tailored dress too crisp. He seemed more like a painting than a person. I almost felt bad for the girl who ended up with him. That would probably be the most boring life imaginable.

I focused on his mother. She looked serene. She sat up in her chair, too, but not in an icy way. I realized that, unlike the king and Prince Harry, she hadn't grown up in the castle. She was a celebrated Daughter of Illéa. She might have been someone like me.

The king was already talking, but I had to know.

"Mom?" I whispered, trying not to distract Dad.

"Yes?"

"The queen…what was she? Her caste, I mean."

Mom smiled at my interest. "A Four."

A Four. She'd spent her formative years working in a factory shop, or maybe on a farm. I wondered about her life. Did she have a large family? She probably hadn't had to worry about food growing up. Were her friends jealous of her when she was chosen? If I had any really close friends, would they be jealous of me?

That was stupid. I wasn't going to be picked.

Instead I focused on the king's words.

"Just this morning, another attack in New Asia rocked our bases. It has left our troops slightly outnumbered, but we are confident that with the fresh draft next month will come lifted morale, not to mention a swelling of fresh forces."

I hated war. Unfortunately, we were a young country that had to protect itself against everyone. It wasn't likely this land would survive another invasion."

After the king gave us an update on a recent raid on a Death Eater camp, the Financial Team updates us on the status of the debt, and the head of the Infrastructure Committee announced that in two years they were planning to start work on rebuilding several highways, some of which hadn't been touched since the Fourth World War. Finally the last person, the Master of Events, came to the podium.

"Good evening, ladies and Ladies of Illéa. As you all know, notices to participate in the Selection were recently distributed in the mail. We have received the first count of submitted applications, and I am pleased to say that thousands of the beautiful women in Illéa have already placed their names in the lottery for the Selection!"

In the back corner, Harry shifted a little in his seat. Was he sweating?

"On behalf of the royal family, I would like to thank you for your enthusiasm and patriotism. With any luck, by the New Year we will be celebrating the engagement of our beloved Prince Harry to an enchanting, talented, and intelligent Daughter of Illéa!"

The few advisers sitting there applauded. Harry smiled but looked uncomfortable. When the applause died down, the Master of Events started up again.

"Of course, we will be having lots of programming dedicated to meeting the young women of the Selection, not to mention specials on their lives at the castle. We could not think of anyone more qualified to guide us through this exciting time than our very own Mr. Gavril Fadaye!"

There was another smattering of applause, but it came from my mom and Fred and George this time. Gavril Fadaye was a legend. For something like twenty years he'd done running commentary on Grateful Feast parades, and Christmas shows and anything they celebrated at the castle. I'd never seen an interview with members of the royal family or their closest friends or family done by anyone but him.

"Oh, Ginny, you could meet Gavril!" Mom crooned.

"He's coming!" Fred said, flailing his arms.

I caught Ron rolling his eyes. Yeah, I agree.

Sure enough, there was Gavril, sauntering onto the set in his crisp blue shirt. He was maybe in his late forties, and he always looked sharp. As he walked across the stage, the light caught on the pin on his lapel, a flash of gold that was similar to the forte signs in my piano music.

"Goooood evening, Illéa!" he sang. "I have to say that I am so honoured to be a part of the Selection. Lucky me, I get to meet thirty-five gorgeous men! What idiot wouldn't want my job?" He winked at us through the camera. "But before I get to meet these lovely lads, one of which will be our new second prince, I have the pleasure of speaking with the man of the hour, our Prince Harry."

With that Harry walked across the carpeted stage to a pair of chairs set up for him and Gavril. He straightened his tie and adjusted his shirt, as if he needed to look _more_ polished. He shook Gavril's hand and sat across from him, picking up the microphone. The chair was high enough that Harry propped his feet on a bar in the middle of the legs. He looked much more casual that way.

"Nice to see you again, Your Highness."

"Thank you, Gavril. The pleasure is all mine." Harry's voice was as poised as the rest of him. He radiated waves of formality. I wrinkled my nose at the idea of just being in the same room with him.

"In less than a month, thirty-five women will be moving into your house. How do you feel about that?"

Harry laughed. "Honestly, it _is_ a bit nerve-racking. I'm imagining there will be much more noise with so many guests. I'm looking forward to it all the same."

"Have you asked dear old dad for any advice on how managed to get a hold of such a beautiful wife when it was his turn?"

Both Harry and Gavril looked over to the king and queen, and the camera panned over to show them looking at each other, smiling and holding hands. It seemed genuine, but how would we know any better?

"I haven't actually. As you know, the situation in New Asia has been escalating, and I've been working with him more on the military side of things. Not much time to discuss girls in there."

Mom, and the twins laughed. I suppose it was kind of funny.

"We don't have much time left, so I'd like to have one more question. What do you imagine your perfect girl will be like?"

Harry looked taken aback. It was hard to tell, but he may have been blushing.

"Honestly, I don't know. I think that's the beauty of the Selection. No two women who enter will be exactly the same – not in looks or preferences or disposition. And I'm through the process of meeting them and talking to them, I'm hoping to discover what I want, to find it alone the way." Harry smiled.

"Thank you, Your Highness. That was very well said. And I think I speak for all of Illéa when I wish you the best of luck." Gavril held out his hand for another shake.

"Thank you, sir," Harry said. The camera didn't cut away quick enough, and you could see him looking over to his parents, wondering if he'd said the right thing. The next shot zoomed in on Gavril's face, so there was no way to see what their response was.

"I'm afraid that's all the time we have for this evening. Thank you for watching the _Illéa Capital Report_ , and we'll see you next week."

With that, the music played and the credits rolled.

"Ginny and Harry, sitting in a tree," sang Fred and George simultaneously. I grabbed a pillow and chucked it at them, but I couldn't help laughing at the thought. Harry was so stiff and quiet. It was hard to imagine anyone being happy with such a wimp.

I spent the rest of the night hanging out with Hermione and Ron, trying to ignore my brothers' teasing, and finally went to my room to be alone. Even the thought of being near Harry Potter made me uncomfortable. My brothers' little jabs stayed in my head all night and made it difficult for me to sleep.

It was hard to pinpoint the sound that woke me, but once I was aware of it, I tried to survey my room in absolute stillness, just in case someone was there.

 _Tap, tap, tap._

I turned over slowly to face my window, and there was Dean, grinning at me. I got out of bed and tiptoed to the door, shutting it all the way and locking it. I went back to the bed, unlocking and slowly opening my window.

A rush of heat that had nothing to do with summer swept over me as Dean climbed through the window and onto my bed.

"What are you doing here?" I whispered, smiling in the dark.

"I had to see you," he breathed into my cheek as he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me down until we were lying side by side on the bed.

"I have so much to tell you, Dean."

"Shh, don't say a word. If anyone hears, there'll be hell to pay. Just let me look at you."

And so I obeyed. I stayed there, quiet and still, while Dean stared into my eyes. When he had his fill of that, he went to nuzzling his nose into my neck and hair. And then his hands were moving up and down the curve of my waist to my hip over and over and over. I heard his breathing get heavy, and something about that drew me in.

His lips, hidden in my neck, started kissing me. I drew in sharp breaths. I couldn't help it. Dean's lips travelled up my chin and covered my mouth, effectively silencing my gasps. I wrapped myself around him, our rushed grabbing and the humidity of the night covering us both in sweat.

It was a stolen moment.

Dean's lips finally slowed, though I was nowhere near ready to stop. But we had to be smart. If we went any further, and there was evidence of it, we'd both be thrown in jail.

Another reason everyone married young: Waiting is torture.

"I should go," he whispered.

"But I want you to stay." My lips were by his ear. I could smell his soap again.

"Ginny Weasley, one day you will fall asleep in my arms every night. And you'll wake up to my kisses every morning. And then some." I bit my lip at the thought. "But now I have to go. We're pushing our luck."

I sighed and loosed my grip. He was right.

"I love you, Ginny."

"I love you, Dean."

These secret moments would be enough to get me through everything coming: Mom's disappointment when I wasn't chosen, the work I'd have to do to help Dean save, the eruption that was coming when he asked one of my parents for my hand, and whatever struggles we'd go through once we were married. None of it mattered. Not if I had Dean.


End file.
